Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“They lived.” My voice softens a shade. “New identity. New city. I checked on them after a couple of years. They’re happy. Safe.”
She studies me again, but this time her gaze is warmer. “Would you make the same choice now?”
I don’t look away. For the first time in years, I cross a line I told myself was non-negotiable. I let Raine see the real me.
“I already did.”
Nothing moves in the room, but something inside her settles. And something in me does too.
Raine
Exhaustion threads through my limbs, insistent and…irritating.
It hasn’t even been two days. This is normal.
My self-talk doesn’t help. I’m so tired of being…tired. Scared.
Asher notices. He always notices.
“You did well,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “And I’m tracking wins tonight.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
He nods toward the bowl. “You finished more than half the soup. You’re talking. You’re…here.”
I don’t look down. The little kernel of warmth in my chest isn’t something I’m used to. “You didn’t think I could?”
“I thought you’d stop when your body told you to,” he says simply. “I’m glad it decided not to be hasty.”
I let my fingers drag lightly across the grain of the tabletop, grounding myself in the texture. “We should look at the logs.”
He huffs something that might be a snort or a quiet laugh. “It’s after midnight. You’ve been pushing yourself all day, Raine. Tomorrow, when you’re steady, we’ll hit it fresh.”
“When,” I repeat. “Not if.”
Another smile. “I get the sense there’s no ‘if’ with you. Ever.”
The words sit between us, weighty in a way that feels…good. Right.
I push the chair back to stand, but the second I straighten, my legs protest. A soft tremor runs through them, and the room tilts at a slow diagonal.
Asher’s attention sharpens instantly. “Easy. I’m going to walk you back to bed. I won’t touch you unless you fall.”
His words steady me more than my muscles do.
I take a step.
My foot snags on the chair leg.
The world pitches forward.
Before I can process the movement, warmth and strength fold around me—not trapping, not tightening, just catching.
Asher’s arm curls around my back, low enough to avoid my bad shoulder and my ribs, his other hand anchoring me gently at my hip.
My body meets his chest, solid and immovable, and the contact hits like a shockwave.
My pulse spikes, my breath goes sharp, panic flooding my system.
“Raine,” he says quietly, his voice steady. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
I can’t answer him. My chest is too tight.
His hold doesn’t shift. I don’t feel restrained. Just supported. His body is a warm, steady wall holding me up, his hands firm enough to keep me from falling, but not digging in or pressing where they shouldn’t.
“I’m going to let go in three seconds,” he says. “One…”
His arm begins to ease.
“Two—”
“No.” The word rips out of me, but not in fear. “Not yet. I’m not steady.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, instantly still. “We stay right here. No movement until you say.”
I close my eyes. His warmth radiates through me, grounding in a way I never expected from any contact, let alone this one. My panic doesn’t vanish, but it bends. Softens into something I can manage. His breath stays slow and even against my temple, a steady rhythm I can use to calm my own.
He doesn’t speak again until I let out a shudder and the tension in my body starts to ease.
“You’re doing the work,” he says. “I’m just holding the line.”
I don’t know how long it takes—minutes stretch and contract strangely when my body is like this—but eventually, the tremor leaves my legs. My balance shifts back into my own control.
“I’m okay,” I whisper. “You can let go.”
He releases me immediately, stepping back without pulling or lingering. The loss of contact is sudden but not jarring. I turn, cautiously, meeting his steady gaze.
“I can make it the rest of the way,” I whisper.
He nods. “I know. I’m just along for the ride.”
It’s less than twenty steps to the bed. Asher stays close enough to catch me if gravity and I have another disagreement, but not close enough to crowd me.
When I sit, exhaustion pulls at me like tidewater, but something inside me feels…different. Not because I didn’t panic—but because I came out the other side on my feet.
Because he caught me and didn’t keep me.
Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t survive contact.
I used it.
And it helped.
Asher
She let me touch her. And while it may have been necessary to keep her from falling, she chose to stay in my arms until she’d fought through her panic.
My shoulder twinges when I shift. Too many nights in this fucking chair. I make a mental note to outfit all my safe houses with recliners when this job is done.
The scar across my back pulls faintly. I hadn’t planned on telling her about that. I don’t talk about it with anyone. It’s one of those stories you bury under layers of professionalism and necessity. But the way she was looking at me…direct, steady, unafraid of the truth…it pulled something open.
She trusted me enough to stay in her body when my hands were on her. I can still feel the shape of her under my palm, the careful tension in her breath, the exact moment she decided not to pull away.
Most people don’t offer that kind of trust.
Even fewer understand the weight of receiving it.
As I close my eyes, one thought settles in with a certainty I can’t ignore:
Today changed something.
For her, yes—but for me too.
Whatever comes next, I’m already in it.